Contortion
by krolium
Summary: Something is amiss - Iceland can feel it in his bones. But he'd really prefer to just go home anyway. Hints of DenNor, but that's not the focus. One-shot.


**A/N: Hey, so I wrote this on my old tumblr a couple months back. It's based on an idea by tumblr user bloodstainedcupcakes, and though I deleted the account, I still kinda want people to be able to read my stuff.**

"Icey, it's no big deal," says Norway, who has just polished off his third beer. His smile is far too wide and his stance is far too confident and overbearing, but what worries me is his loud, meaningless prattle. "I bet I can hold my beer better than anyone else in the room."

Denmark rolls his eyes, letting out a low and dramatic sigh that sends shivers down my spine. The word "idiot" slides off his tongue, cold and smooth as ice. He's completely sober, and his posture is near-perfect, as opposed to his typical casual stance.

What the hell is wrong with my family? I mean, Denmark and Norway are always annoying, but this is… Different, and kinda creepy.

"I see!" Norway calls out cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Denmark, who's still totally calm (if now a bit irritated).

Okay, this is weird. This is really freaking weird. Shouldn't Dan be completely plastered by now? For god's sake, we've been in this bar for half an hour, and Denmark still has yet to order anything. And shouldn't Norway be punching him in the face or something?

Either way, this is still fucking embarrassing, and I still want out of this place as soon as possible. Maybe, since Nor's been drinking, I'll be able to sneak out without him noticing?

Ooh, that's not a bad idea. Good job, me. Nice plan, nice plan.

After mentally giving myself a high-five, I stand up, ready to walk out the door, when suddenly-

"Where are you going, lillebror?" Denmark asks, quiet and seemingly uninterested, though his voice demands my attention. His words are clear and melodic in their serenity, and my eyes widen as I realize he's speaking Norwegian.

Actually, his voice isn't too bad when he removes the potato he's shoved down his throat.

Wait, since when am I his little brother? I mean, I've jokingly called him Dadmark before, but if he thinks I'm about to call him big brother, I might just look in to finally getting a restraining order for that idiot.

What? No, not really, but that's not the point!

I realize I'm gaping at him, and I clear my throat. "Dad- ah, Dan, I'm leaving. Make sure Norway doesn't kill himself, okay?"

Smooth, Ice. Smooth.

I gesture toward Norway, who's trying to start a drinking contest with a reluctant Finland.

Denmark seems to remain impassive, save for the crease that wears its way between his eyebrows, and the stern way his jaw sets. "Why don't you stay? I need someone to help me with these three numbskulls."

"Aren't you supposed to be the numbskull?" I ask before I can stop myself. Well, that came out wrong.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies briskly, and I realize exactly what's so freaky about this.

Denmark's acting exactly like Norway, and Norway's acting exactly like Denmark.

Why?

Norway's either really drunk or batshit crazy, and at this point, I can't even tell which one.

I mean, you'd have to be totally insane to challenge Finland to a drinking contest, right? Like, maybe Latvia or Russia could manage that kind of talent, but Norway? You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Nevertheless, Nor's just downed two shots in addition to his three beers, and if he doesn't have a hangover in the morning, I'll eat my puffin (I shit you not).

Finland doesn't even look tipsy yet, but that's Fin for ya. He actually looks a bit worried. "Nor, are you sure you wanna keep going? I don't want you to hurt yourself."

My brother just laughs (?), thrusting his arm over Fin's shoulder. "I'm fine, Finny. I mean, I'm still acting normal, right?"

The other man tosses back another shot and slams the glass down on the table, growling. "That's it! Nor, what shit are you pulling this time?"

"Whatcha talking about?" Norway replies, also downing another shot.

"Who are you?" Finland snarls, and when Norway does nothing but give him a stupid smile, he grabs my brother by the collar and pins him against the wall. "What have you done with Norway?"

"I'm Norway," he giggles, unperturbed, "King of the North. Just ask Denmark."

Suddenly, all eyes are on Dadmark- I mean, Denmark. Slip of the tongue. All eyes are on Denmark.

Denmark's face contorts for a minute, then he starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. Because he's stupid like that.

Fin, Svi, and I just stand there, confused, but Norway scowls, fighting his way out of Finland's grasp before walking over to Denmark and punching him in the jaw (lightly, of course, because he loves Den way too much to actually hurt the dork). "Stupid," he hisses, rolling his eyes.

The other just keeps giggling, wrapping his arms around Norway's waist and giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. Disgusting.

"Alright!" I yell. "Sorry to interrupt… Whatever the fuck that was… But what the hell is going on?"

"Oh," Denmark says, turning his gaze toward me. "You see, Norway and I decided to act like each other for the night."

Norway wriggles out from Denmark's hold and grumbles, "Or at least, we were going to, until you messed up."

Denmark puts his hands up in resignation. "Sorry, sorry! It's just hard not to laugh. Everyone was looking at me like I was crazy!"

"That's how everyone always looks at you," Norway shoots back, and things are back to normal.


End file.
